ence he describes between our comfortable situation at home, and his cold and solitary exile; and doubly sympathize with the man, from the compliment paid us by so famous a poet. It is the only instance of the kind we recollect, in which Rome cuts a domestic figure in one's imagination, instead of being the great domineering city, paraded by consuls, and looking warlike or Ciceronian. For Pliny, somehow, does not make us enter cordially into his fine houses. We, the Reader, were then a wit and fine gentleman about town, under the eye of Augustus; hatless, and gowned; and, as Arbuthnot says of that prince, without glass to one's windows or a shirt to one's back. The Reader, to wit, ourself, need not be informed, that ancient reading, being in manuscript, was much more confined than it is at present. In Greece we were a philosopher, an historian, a poet; latterly a grammarian, a collector of epigrams, or a mystic. What are ordinary readers now were then listeners to the poet's lyrics, or audiences at an Olympic game or a theatre. And it was the same in the age of chivalry. Hence the addresses of the poets to their harps and audiences. Milton covenanted with us ("the Knowing Reader ") for the performance in due time of an epic poem ; but when he had gloriously redeemed his promise, he spoke of us as an auditor; "Fit audience find though few." For a long time we were either a professed minstrel, or else a clerk or ecclesiastically learned person, as distinguished from the laity. Chaucer and others helped to extend our jurisdiction. Our friend Caxton, in the reign of Edward the Fourth, addressed his History of Prince

Arthur to us, under the title of "the Christian Reader." By this time we had included the people of quality, both male and female, to whom he accordingly proceeds to address himself. These gave rise to the term "Gentle Readers," our gentleness at that time consisting, not in its modern effeminate qualities, but in having high blood in us, and being qualified to knock people on the head. Caxton, however, judiciously distinguishes between such as "desire to read" and such as "desire to hear read." By a subsequent edition of this work, it may be seen how we had increased our body corporate among the plebeians; for the editor takes upon himself to be insolent. "Thus," says he, "reader, I leave thee at thy pleasure to read, but not to judge, except thou judge with understanding. The ass" (think of that said nowadays to "the reading public!") "is no competent judge between the owl and the nightingale, for the sweetness of their voices; cloth of arras or hangings of tapestry are not fit to adorn a kitchen; no more are kettles, pots, and spits to hang in a lady's bed-chamber; neither is it becoming for a man to censure that which his ignorance cannot perceive, or his pride and malice prejudicate or cavil at." — This fellow must have been a knight, at least.

An author who is uneasy with his readers has generally good reason to be so. We like him in proportion as he is the reverse; that is to say, provided he is worthy of our company; and more especially, if as in Ovid's case, he does it honor. With what reverence do we not receive those personal communications vouchsafed us by such writers as Milton, and imper

tinently called impertinences by the critics! How we love them in writers of a tenderer cast, and enjoy their gayety in the more lively! Scaliger, speaking of the delightful egotism of Montaigne (would that all good authors were as modest as he, and not afraid of committing their dignity!), asks "what the devil it signifies whether he liked this wine or that?" It signifies that he understood the social part of us, and that he was not an arrogant critic, who thought himself too good for his readers. When Fielding arrests the progress of one of his narratives to tell us of the little parlor in which he was writing with his children about him, how thankful do we not feel for his good-natured humanity in thus letting us into his. domestic difficulties, -in giving the picture at once the zest of a pain and the cordiality of a pleasure! How does it not make us wish, that all men, not illinclined, could know and understand one another; could see how much pain they can endure, and how much pleasure bestow!

66 Our

"The Reader's" loss of consequence nowadays, as we have before observed, is his gain; that is to say, "The Reader” is going out, because all are readers. The newspapers and magazines speak of us as readers." We are sometimes directly called " the public," and scavengers and beadles address us, with talents that used to be confined to the clergy. Still there is "The Reader" properly so called, that is to say, the Reader genuine and fond of reading; and as such we have still our tastes and our distinctions. We often read at breakfast and tea; are sometimes observed reading even in the streets, - not out of ostentation,

but because we cannot leave our friend at home: nay, if dining alone, we like to have the book open beside us, or will stick it up against the loaf, and devour salad and Sir Walter at the same time.

We find no obstacles in the streets. We thread the multitude as easily as a fish does the sea among his fellows, or a blind bat avoids chairs and tables in a room. We keep a sort of eye, without seeing it, to the gutter; and have the path down a hill before us, without trying to keep it.* We prefer, however, green lanes, or a lane with bookstalls, stopping occasionally to compare notes with the blackbirds, and always stopping to look at the books. In the latter case, we make a display of the volume in our hand, lest the stall-man should confound it with one of his own. If we put it in our pocket, we fancy he will see it sticking out as we move off, and make hasty search before we get out of sight. We fancy he will think it a Waller, "price 9d.," or a description of the German Spa, or Marcus Antoninus's Meditations, or some modern writer (perhaps ourself!), same as sells at five shillings!"

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A lounge in summer against a bank or the newmown hay, has been too often described to be dwelt on. In doors, if the season be fine and warm, a sofa

*Herein differing from book-loving Charles Lamb, who, in his Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading, says, “I am not much a friend to out-of-doors reading. I cannot settle my spirits to it. I know a Unitarian minister, who was generally to be seen upon Snow Hill (as yet Skinner's Street was not), between the hours of ten and eleven in the morning, studying a volume of Lardner. I own this to have been a strain of abstraction beyond my reach. I used to admire how he sidled along, keeping clear of secular contacts. An illiterate encounter with a porter's knot, or a bread-basket, would have quickly put to flight all the theology I am master of, and have left me worse than indifferent to the five points.". ED.

is the thing, after a walk, with the balmy substitution of slippers for boots, and a new work to begin; or, say, the fifth chapter of a new novel, where you turned down a leaf, and were at a most interesting passage. The ivory knife to cut open the leaves with, is also pleasing. We cannot but think there is a kind of sensual pleasure in it. We must not dwell upon the pleasure of reading in bed, turning first one elbow and then the other, and finally lying upon one's back, wondering we did not choose that happy posture at once. The custom is dangerous, and conscientious readers leave it off, if they are not sure the candle will be put out. A book behind the pillow for morning, is another thing; or even for the chance of reading, if you wish it, though you never do. But we shall be

reverting to particular tastes. As to winter time, we believe it will be allowed by all catholic perusers, that an elbow-chair, and a foot on each hob, is the most luxurious enormity.

1830.

"THE READER."

DR. DODDRIDGE AND THE LADIES.

HIS is another volume of the work* which ex

THIS

cited so much attention and amusement, as disclosing the livelier part of Dr. Doddridge's character, and his fondness for the ladies. We mean to say nothing against the doctor's reputation. fondness was kept within legal bounds, and only

* The Correspondence and Diary of Philip Doddridge, D. D., &c. Edited from the original MSS. by his Great-grandson, John Doddridge Humphreys, Esq. Vol. IV. London, 1830.